


Another "X" On The Calendar

by jessythewriter



Series: Sherlock's Vices and John's Virtues [1]
Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Fluff, M/M, POV John Watson, Panic At The Disco (Band), Post-Reichenbach, Sherlock Holmes Returns after Reichenbach, alternate comeback
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 18:13:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7694419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessythewriter/pseuds/jessythewriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A month, a date, a year, all of numerical value, but a further increase in value means waiting, and each of the passing means a spent engagement. But to John Watson every flip, every mark, is waiting for Sherlock Holmes</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another "X" On The Calendar

**Author's Note:**

> A one-shot inspired by P!ATD's "The Calendar"
> 
> The Calendar  
> Panic! At the Disco  
> 4:42  
> Vices and Virtues  
> Panic! at the Disco, John Feldmann  
> Decaydance, Fueled by Ramen

_There is simply nothing worse than knowing how it ends._

Sherlock held his hand out to me, and I did the same. But the distance that separated us never let our fingertips touch each other. He was on the rooftop of St. Bart’s, looking down at me. I was on the street, the lowest of the grounds, and I looked up onto him. The only thing that met was our gaze at each other, and the only thing that connected us was our own voices we hear on the phone.

_“Nobody could be that clever.”_

_“You could.”_

He smiled. The first smile he gave me since this whole Moriarty escapade started running. But he is smiling at me, on the brink of his death.

_“Goodbye John.”_

_“Sherlock!”_

Every night, the same exact scene runs in my mind, like how one adores his or her favorite song, but instead of happiness, it gave you grief.

When he was still alive, we discussed the origins of the calendar, and its many forms. Apparently, he still knows a lot about it.

“But why do some people still cross out the dates? They’re just numbers, indication that a certain amount of time has passed.” He asked genuinely.

“It’s because people want to track down what they already did, or anticipate a coming event. It’s a normal doing for people Sherlock, among the ones that you find boring.”

“If you knew the exact date of your death, would you mark it? Put an “x” on it?”

“Maybe. At least I get to do all the things that I really wanted to do.”

But that was before. Because I already marked the calendar of the day he died. And what should I further mark? The day he rises from the grave?

_It felt like being in an ambulance, a chaser of faith._

A week after we buried him, I started to see hallucinations, images of him around the flat. I woke up with him staring at me. He was sitting on a chair in front of my bed, as if hopeful that I get out of my slumber. I blinked my eyes twice. Then he was gone. Another was when I rode the tube to go to the clinic. He will be there, sitting across me. He just won’t do anything. He just… stares. And when a flock of people enters the hearse, he disappears. When I make my tea, he will be waiting for me to sit down on the dining room, and when someone comes in, he gets out. And every single time I reach out my hand, he would always disappear. It’s torture, I tell you, but I didn’t ask for this. As if watching him commit suicide was far from enough.

 Is this really it? Am I officially out of my mind?

It was something that’s getting out of my hand. So what I did is that I mark my calendar everytime I see his image. Weeks, months passed, and it suddenly became my hobby, taking account of every day that he shows up. At first, I see him every day, and sometimes every minute. However, as the “x”s of my calendar grew, his image is starting to visit me less and less, as if his memory was fading away, away from me.

_Another “x” on the calendar meant that summer is on its deathbed._

The cold wind finally blew, and I am still wearing my old jacket, the one we use in cases. It has been a year, and the hallucinations are starting to lessen. Should I be happy that I’m not crazy, or should I be sad, because it indicates that I’ve moved on? That I have started to forget him? That the calendar I stare at home is finally clean from any marking?

As I came home the road from my usual way to work, I finally saw an image, his image. He was standing there, wearing his large coat and that ridiculous scarf. His hands were on his pocket, and he looked at me, as if he has been waiting for a long time, yearning in his eyes are evident. He was covered in falling snow.

I smiled. Finally, I saw him for a very long time. Even if it was just an imagination, it was a relief, really, to see the old him. As I walked briskly, I decided to pass through the image. It was enough seeing him; it fed the longing in my heart.

Suddenly, I felt that I bumped into something. Not something hard solid, like a wall or a post, but I felt heat from it. Not that I tripped on something like a stone, but when I looked downward, I saw a pair of shoes. I slowly looked up at this thing, afraid that what I’ve been thinking right now is reality.

The figure met my gaze. He was looking down at me. I tried to walk by him again, but it was opaque. I can’t pass through! Then I realized it was a real body, a real gaze.

“You’re…”

“John.”

“You’re real?”

My mind was blank. I don’t know how to process it. My body moved on its own. My index finger poked his cheeks. They felt warm, and his face was blushing. I still just stared at him.

Suddenly, he took his blue scarf off of him and wound it around my neck. I smelled his sweet perfume. It smelled of him. It was him.

“Sherlock.”

Then he hugged me.

Well maybe there would be a lot of explanations, examples, or definitions as to why did he do it, why did he leave me like that, while did he caused these sufferings. But at this very particular moment, I want to savor his warmth, his arms wrapped around my body, his chest that alternately rises and falls.

And maybe I should’ve marked the calendar for the days I’ve seen his image. One “x” on the calendar would suffice my long wait, and that is the day he comes back to life.

_“Only for you, John. Only for you.”_

**Author's Note:**

> In my personal opinion, this song really hits every emotion that Sherlock and John felt during S02 E03, which is why i replayed the song many times, and I always end up imagining them.
> 
> I req a gif from livingthegifs on Tumblr. Thanks for granting it! http://the221b-consultingblogger.tumblr.com/post/150028673002/livingthegifs-songs-im-listening-to-sherlock


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